


Wherefore Art Thou, Rom- (Shut the Fuck Up Eames, This Is Julius Caesar)

by 3raser (kay_elizabeth_roxx)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Sex, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare Quotations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4834268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_elizabeth_roxx/pseuds/3raser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur convinces Eames to see the play Julius Caesar with him. The impromptu handjob, though, was definitely not part of the program.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wherefore Art Thou, Rom- (Shut the Fuck Up Eames, This Is Julius Caesar)

Eames would forever argue that the theater incident was, in fact, entirely Arthur's fault. The issue had been unfairly sprung upon him in a moment of personal weakness, after all. A moment that may or may not have involved a sweaty Arthur in his arms, and post-coital bliss fogging his brain.

“So, you'll come to the play with me this weekend, right?” Arthur asked, sweetly, only slightly out of breath as he pressed a slow, calculated kiss to Eames' chest.

“Mmm, and what play is that, darling?” Eames asked, his words coming out slightly slurred. He was only half paying attention, truthfully, feeling heavy and sated as Arthur lavished attention onto his chest and shoulders.

“Julius Caesar,” Arthur casually replied, dragging his tongue down Eames' stomach to his navel. Eames grabbed for Arthur's shoulder, however, halting the other man's motions and fixing him with a droopy-eyed glare.

“You know I can't stand Shakespeare,” Eames accused. “I've had more than my fill of that poncy git.”

“Oh, c'mon,” Arthur wheedled, letting his cheek brush teasingly against Eames'— _oh._ “We'll make it a date.”

“Well....” Eames grimaced, before dropping his head back with a rumbling moan as Arthur tongued his foreskin.

“It's a yes, then,” Arthur nodded, matter-of-fact, before ducking down and getting back to work.

~

“Yes, a suit is required for the theater, Eames,” Arthur sighed, straightening his tie in the mirror. “All three pieces, too.”

“So that would be trousers, shirt, and jacket, right?” Eames grinned, and Arthur sighed heavily.

“Just put a tie on,” he relented, and Eames grinned, sidling up beside him.

“Or maybe,” Eames purred, raising Arthur's hand to his mouth and trailing kisses across his knuckles, “we could just stay home and, oh, I don't know.... Put that whipped cream in the refrigerator to good use?”

Arthur blinked up at him. “I'm lactose-intolerant, Eames.”

“I meant _me,_ ” Eames groaned, but Arthur was already out the door, beckoning him with one stern finger.

~

“Oh, looks like we can't go to the show,” Eames sighed, remorsefully. “It's half-off night at my favorite titty bar.”

“You don't even like tits, Eames,” Arthur reminded him, rolling his eyes, and Eames grinned.

“I like yours,” Eames rumbled, and Arthur dimpled despite himself, shoving him with one shoulder.

Arthur did look rather dapper in his new Givenchy double-breasted coat, his cheeks pinkened by the wind, and Eames smiled, going for his hand. Arthur shot him a sideways glance, but allowed it, leather-gloved fingers twining with Eames' own.

“I'll try not to embarrass you, love,” Eames teased, pressing a quick kiss behind his ear. “But I can't help it that I'm a brute. I'll try and dredge up the long-buried knowledge of my school years, hmmm....”

Eames ignored Arthur's groan of dismay, and continued on anyway. “Oh, let me see. 'Wherefore art thou, Rom—'”

“Wrong play,” Arthur sighed.

“Neither a borrower nor a l—”

“Wrong play. Again.”

“Okay, then how about, 'Shut the fuck up, asshole, that's not a bloody lark—'”

“Eames!” Arthur exclaimed, laughing as they entered the theater, and Eames obediently zipped his lips as Arthur dealt with the ticket collector.

“Behave yourself,” Arthur chastised, pulling off his gloves and coat, and Eames smiled impishly, following him to their seat.

The ticket stubs directed them to the last row of the first section of seats, and Arthur smoothed his suit before sitting down and laying his jacket over his lap. Prim and proper as always—Eames wanted to tangle his fingers into that carefully gelled hair, just for the pleasure of mussing it.

Eames slid his hand onto Arthur's thigh underneath the coat, thumbing his inseam and searching for his hand, and Arthur caught his fingers, dragging their hands firmly down to rest against his knee.

“Save the misbehaving for when we get back home,” Arthur murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and Eames quirked an eyebrow, eyes flashing.

~

Eames tried. He really, really did. The actors had very big voices and talked with their hands a lot, but it couldn't quite make up for the fact that Eames had no fucking idea what they were trying to say. And Arthur, of course, was completely enraptured.

“Hey, Arthur,” Eames whispered, leaning over, and Arthur raised one slender eyebrow.

“All of the actors were male during Shakespeare's time, right?” he murmured, and Arthur nodded once, his eyes still fixed on the stage.

“Have you ever wondered how many of them were secretly shagging backstage?” Eames asked, and Arthur fixed him with a death glare, pointedly ignoring him.

“C'mon, darling,” Eames breathed, nibbling playfully at Arthur's earlobe and fighting down his shit-eating grin when Arthur shuddered almost-imperceptibly, his thigh muscles tightening under Eames' hand. “Fucking in one of those togas would be bloody amazing, don't you think? I could just hike it up around your hips and pull you right back against my—”

_“Would you please shut the fuck up, Eames, I am trying to listen to Brutus' soliloquy,”_ Arthur hissed, all at once, and a few people sitting in front of them glanced back at the noise. Arthur narrowed his eyes at them.

“Don't be such a prude, love,” Eames purred against the shell of his ear, his big hand squeezing around Arthur's thigh. He stroked a thumb down the crease where groin meets leg, feeling Arthur half-hard in his trousers and scenting victory on the horizon. “You know you'd like it if all I had to do to get at you was slip my hand up between your legs.”

_“Eames,”_ Arthur bit out, jaw clenched tight, and Eames smirked, eyes hooded as he rubbed Arthur's swelling cock through the smooth fabric of his slacks.

Arthur's hands clenched onto the armrests, knuckles turned white, and thank god no one was seated directly beside them—Arthur bit his lip viciously against a whimper as the heel of Eames' hand pressed against his heat, rubbing him firmly in small, calculated circles.

“Knock it off,” Arthur choked, but his hips were already canting up into Eames' hand, his cock throbbing and warm, pressed against his body and askew in his briefs. Eames imagined he could almost smell the musk of it: sensual and intimate and thick. He wished he could rub his cheek against it, lap his slickness up and take him in, but he settled for undoing Arthur's fly and slipping his hand inside.

Arthur's eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, his attention diverted from the stage for a moment, and he shot Eames a hot glance, biting at his bottom lip. He stifled a moan with a hasty cough when Eames squeezed his cock through his briefs, and Eames dragged the waistband down with a callused thumb, wrapping his fingers around warm, slick flesh.

Jerking Arthur in his pants was difficult—Eames' wrist was twisted at an awkward angle, but it was worth it to watch Arthur's eyes go dark, his fingers pressed hard against his lips to muffle his helpless, wet gasps of pleasure. His cock was pulsing in Eames' hand, the soft curls of his pubic hair damp with sweat and precome, and Arthur finally let his eyes squeeze shut, brows creasing as he gave up on the play altogether.

“You're so damn sexy, love, trying not to moan for me,” Eames whispered into his ear, breath hot and damp as his hand worked beneath the coat. “I could suck you off right here, darling, get you all wet and make you come in my mouth.”

“I'm gonna come,” Arthur breathed back, rubbing his cheek against Eames' stubbled jaw and kissing him briefly, hand slipping down between his own thighs to curve around Eames'.

Eames groaned, too loud, and twined their fingers together, stroking Arthur's dripping cock with short, urgent jerks of their joined hands. Arthur's lips were slack and open by now, begging to be kissed, and Eames did just that, tongue silencing Arthur's rumbling moan of pleasure as he came in his pants.

They parted with a slick noise of clinging lips, Arthur's eyes dilated and dark as his chest heaved with silent pants. Their hands were sticky, still tangled together, and Eames withdrew his, staring intently at Arthur as he casually licked the come from his fingers, full lips pursing around the digits.

Arthur flushed and did up his fly, shifted sheepishly in his sticky briefs. Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed—at least, no one was openly gaping at them.

“Let's get out of here,” Arthur mumbled, sliding his coat on, and Eames' laid a hand on his knee, worried that he'd made him angry.

“We can stay and finish the show, love, if you want,” Eames offered, but Arthur shrugged, buttoning his jacket with slightly unsteady fingers.

“This is the last act,” he said, lips quirking as he looked up at Eames' from under his eyelashes. His hand was suddenly high up on Eames' thigh, brushing just barely against the bulge of his swollen cock.

“And besides,” he murmured, voice low, “A much better show is waiting for you at home, I think.”

Eames' cock twitched in his pants, and when Arthur slipped out into the aisle, Eames followed.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/19632.html?thread=46346672#t46346672) prompt at [Inception_kink](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/).


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